I Think He Likes to be Asked
by brynerose
Summary: Based more on the films than the books, this story explores what Peter Pevensie finds in the real world as he returns to school, and life apart from Narnia. Except maybe the two worlds aren't as far apart as he thinks...
1. Chapter 1

"I Think He Likes to be Asked"

"I Think He Likes to be Asked"

Almost, if not the entire inspiration for this pseudo-_Narnia_ fanfic comes from this _Magician's Nephew_ quote, along with my sudden fascination with extending the religious parallels; if Aslan "is" Jesus, can he become involved with happenings on Earth? (plus, I just enjoy these kinds of stories ) And yes, there's some reminiscence of _A Walk to Remember. _Good story. Don't hurt me if my medical info is off—keep in mind that I am busy and my main focus is writing an engaging story. I research what I can. Tut mir Leid.

* * *

"You're busy, Father, I know," Caity said pacifyingly. "I can get to King's Cross and back on my own just fine."

Dr. Miller drummed his fingers on his desk, checking that he didn't forget anything before leaving for work. "This isn't like before; half the city wasn't in ruins. It's not your decision to make."

"Yes, I'm familiar with that part." Caity leaned forward on the desk to meet her father at eye level. "You didn't ask my opinion at all when you said we could board a student for the school. I'm seventeen, Father—I want _some_ say in my life! You're hurrying off to an extra shift at work, and _someone_ has to meet this student at the station—"

"Alright, alright, fine, go! Just keep yourself in mind, remember?"

Caity snorted derisively. "I haven't forgotten, as if I had a choice in _that_ matter, either. Neither am I going to keel over in the middle of the street. It might never happen at all, so stop worrying."

Her father waved her out.

_We don't even know who this person is,_ Caity thought grumpily in the cab. _How am I supposed to feel comfortable with this?_ She fidgeted nervously with the scarf reigning in her long hair. In what seemed like an entirely too short a time, they had arrived in front of King's Cross station.

"Could you wait here? I'm just fetching someone off the 5:40 train," she told the driver. Then she took a deep breath, and walked inside.

People were already disembarking and leaving the platform when she arrived. How in the world would she recognize this student? There was always waiting to see who was left, but that would be rude. She continued to search for an answer to her predicament as a teenaged boy walked passed to the attendant on duty.

"Excuse me, I'm supposed to be meeting a Dr. Herbert Miller. Do you know where I might find him?"

_You've got to be joking._

"Here, actually," Caity piped up shyly. "He was called in to work at the last minute, so I came instead. Caitlyn Miller, his daughter." She offered a hand to shake.

The boy was taken by surprise. He was several inches taller than Caity, with dark blonde hair and kind, clear-blue eyes. "Oh, well I guess that solves my problem. Thank you for your time, sir. Miss Miller, is it? My name's Peter Pevensie."

"Pleasure to meet you, and Caity's just fine," Caity answered politely.

Peter smiled. "Caity, then. It suits you."

"Have you got everything? The cab's just outside." They gathered Peter's things and headed back to the Miller's house.

"So," Peter ventured after a few minutes' silence. "Do you have any siblings? Or is it just you and your parents?"

"It's just my father and I. My mother died when I was five. I learned early on that time is a precious gift."

"Oh. I'm sorry for that. I'm not sure where my mum is right now, haven't heard from her in a month or so. My brother, sisters, and I were evacuated, and Dad's fighting in the war. It's all become so complicated."

When they reached the house, Dr. Miller had already returned and was preparing dinner and a pot of tea. He struck up an immediate conversation with Peter, leaving Caity to keep her preferred silence. There was something about the boy she couldn't quite place. He was polite, charming, and simply _at ease_ with himself. It was as if he had somehow captured the experience of a seasoned adult in his eighteen years.

Peter had the weekend to settle in, after which the secondary school they both attended was reopened. Surprisingly (and yet at the same time not really surprising), Peter and Caity had several courses together. Caity wasn't sure whether to mark this as good or bad; her father gave her privacy, as did nearly everyone else. She was not accustomed to sharing large portions of her days with someone so outgoing—or focused on including her.

"We're putting together an indoor cricket team for what's left of the winter. Want to join?" Peter asked after lessons one day.

Caity looked over the top of the book she was reading and walking with. "I usually keep to academia, a much more pressing matter than fun and games. But thank you for the invitation."

"Um, okay." Peter looked a little taken aback. "Well, if you ever change your mind…"

Time and again this happened, and although Caity declined each time, Peter seemed determined to draw her out of her self-imposed isolation. Was there something he saw that she didn't? The days turned to weeks, and she found even her hard resolve beginning to crumble.

"You can't spend _all_ your time with your nose in books. A little fun is healthy, too," Peter argued two weeks later.

"Maybe I find books to be _fun_, Mr. I-Can't-Live-Without-Sports," Caity retorted, clutching her bag to her chest.

"I mean _active_ fun. Playing cricket, taking a walk…going ice skating. They've still got the ice rink set up in Kensington Gardens, and it's only fifty pence for skates. What do you say?"

Caity faced him with a glare. "Have my answers meant nothing to you? I don't have any interest in your wild little games and adventures." The truth was that her legs had been feeling increasingly stiff for some time, a fact she neglected to tell her father and had no intention of sharing with Peter. "I just want to be left in peace and quiet with my books. Why should I need anything more?"

"I think a little fun would do you good. This is probably the last cold spell we'll get," Peter urged.

"Cold is right; I'm shivering something awful. And anyway, I don't know how to skate, and I should feel silly wobbling about in front of people who do know."

Peter bit his lip. "Well, I came across a couple pairs of old skates in the hall closet, that day we were searching for a spare electric bulb. They must've been your parents'. There's an old pond in the corner of the park, nice and private. I could teach you, if you like."

His hand brushed hers by accident at the last part, and Caity felt a great shift in her mind. Something about this boy's character made her want to trust him. He was honest and well-meaning—all in all, growing into a fine man.

"I suppose we could, for a little while," she finally relented.

Peter's face broke out into a very boyish grin. He started to lead the way to the Millers' house when a final thought occurred to Caity.

"Wait! What if Father finds out?" she asked, grabbing his coat sleeve. "He doesn't approve of such activities, especially for a girl like me."

"He doesn't have to find out, then," Peter replied.

_He makes it sound so simple._ A sudden reckless urge filled Caity. She found she didn't care, as long as she got to investigate this new thing. "Then what are we waiting for?"


	2. Chapter 2

The pond was indeed in a secluded area

The pond was indeed in a secluded area. Caity thought it must be very pretty in the spring. But her hesitations were returning as they prepared to go out on the ice.

"You're—you're sure of this?" she said haltingly. Her gloved hands gripped the log she was sitting on with amazing force. Peter gently took them and helped her stand up.

"It'll be fine, I promise. The ice is still thick enough to support us. Just start with stepping on the ice; no movement, just step. There, now slide one foot forward…now the other…keep going, slowly—oops, careful." He caught her as her feet flew out.

Peter skated backwards so as to lead her around by the hands. It _was_ slow at first, but Caity prided herself in being a quick and attentive student. Soon she only needed one hand for balance, allowing Peter to skate forward, and as the sun began to set, she was skating the length of the pond by herself. Smiling and laughing, she whizzed past Peter like a five-year-old showing her father, "Look what I can do!" It was a freeing sensation to let go of the constraints of adulthood, even if temporarily.

"See, I told you you'd get it," he said as she passed him again. "So do you still think it was a waste of time?"

"Would I still be here if I did?" she called back. It was her fastest crossing yet, maybe a little too fast. Caity coasted for awhile, tried to turn, and fell with a _thud_—and a loud _crack_. Then the ice was outfrom under her, plunging her into the freezing water.

"_Aiiee_—help!"

Peter was at her side, lying on his stomach, carefully inching her out of the hole. It seemed like an eternity before they were back on land.

"Get as many wet things off as possible," Peter ordered. Already he had his own coat, gloves, and scarf off.

Caity was trembling so violently from cold and shock that she could barely wring the water out of her skirt. _ I can't believe I'm half-undressing in front of a boy I hardly know…_ Peter wrapped her in his dry things, wrung out her wet ones, and started for the back gate, which was closest.

"Try to keep moving until we get home," he said, putting his free arm around her shoulders and rubbing them vigorously. By sheer miracle, they arrived at the house to find Dr. Miller hadn't returned yet.

"Well th-that was an-n-n adventure, I m-must say," Caity said through her chattering teeth.

"Yeah," muttered Peter, who looked nervous. "I just hope your dad doesn't kill me for it. Get some dry clothes and a towel for your hair. I'll gather blankets in the armchair and get some tea going."

Caity could only nod, and took the stairs slowly. Her socks and underskirt were a little icy, but everything else was just damp under Peter's coat. Once in her room, she caught sight of a white-faced, blue-lipped ghost in her mirror. She _had_ to get warm. It took several desperate attempts to get her stiff fingers to work the buttons and ties. Finally, however, she managed it and headed back downstairs.

Peter was waiting with a blanket, which he placed snugly around her before sitting her down. More layers followed, topped by a steaming cup of tea for each of them. They sipped in silence for a minute.

"So…feeling better?"  
"Yes, thank you," Caity replied. "And I still had a wonderful time. You mustn't think it your fault that this happened. We'll just have to go earlier in the season next year."

"You're not mad at me? I thought surely you would use it to prove your point—that it was a useless and dangerous waste of time."

"But you also proved _your_ point. I haven't had that sort of fun in ages. True, falling through the ice was _not_ fun. I wouldn't say it ruined the whole day, though."

"Well, for that I'm glad, then," declared Peter.

The conversation drifted over lessons and homework, until, at nearly ten 'til eight, Dr. Miller stepped through the front door.

"I apologize for my lateness, there was a man from the relief effort come in with a crushed foot. I had to try to set the thing, and—oh, what's all this for?" He gazed around the sitting room arrangement (the wet clothes had been left to dry in front of the radiator), then peered further into the kitchen.

Caity was fixing some type of stew, still wrapped in a quilt, Peter assisting her when she required help.

"What happened?" her father asked in a strangled tone.

Caity took a deep breath. "I went ice skating, Father. And I fell through some thin ice. But it was fun while lasted."

It took Dr. Miller a minute or so to absorb this. Finally, he turned to Peter and said, in a level tone, "Would you give us a few minutes, please?"

Peter nodded and retreated to the blanket-laden chair in the sitting room, though the only partially-closed door didn't prevent him from still hearing the conversation.

"You did what?"

"Ice skating. I can't go on ignoring Peter forever. He lives in this house for the time being and is kind enough to try to include me in activities."

"You could have caught your death—"

"But he was there with me and knew exactly what to do!"

"This can't continue and you know it, Caitlyn. If your mother was alive—"

"She would have said it's a sorry shame that I haven't been living life while I can. _I_ still can't believe how blind I've been."

"You can't live without limits.

"I don't know them; you don't know them. Peter certainly doesn't know them, and I'm not going to walk on eggshells the whole time simply because we don't."

Dr. Miller's voice went suddenly quiet. "_You need to tell him_. I won't have you taking such rash chances, Caitlyn. If it were manifest itself now…we can't afford it. _I_ couldn't face it again. Do you understand me?"

"Father, the last thing I need is someone else to treat me like a fragile baby—"

"_Do you or do you not understand me_?"

There was a pause. "Yes, Father, I understand." Caity had never expressed such open defiance to any living being in Peter's memory.

"Thank you. Now—where are you going?"

Part of the quilt appeared in the doorway. "I'm not hungry anymore, so I think I'll go to bed. Just don't tell him about it behind my back, please? Good night." Caity turned and marched through the sitting room, not looking at Peter. After a few seconds' pause, Dr. Miller peered around the doorway.

"Well, if anyone's still interested in supper, it's ready," he said tonelessly.

Caity didn't like returning to her old habits. She had experienced a taste of something more exciting, more intriguing, than grooming herself to be a perfectly-manicured adult. But how to tell Peter? The argument had made him a little quieter as well, and Caity was afraid he would say no if she asked to do anything else. The whole situation was uncomfortable. Finally, she just couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'm not as delicate as Father makes me out to be," she said as they walked home from school. Peter didn't answer immediately.

"Just tell me one thing. Did I walk blindly into this situation of yours?"

"What?"

"Were you sick or something before I came?"

"No! It's just really complicated." Caity couldn't keep the disappointment from her face and voice. "I'm perfectly healthy, and you've given me a chance to learn how to have fun again. I don't want to lose that." She sighed heavily, unsure why she felt so desperate.

"What are you afraid of?" Peter asked after a pause. His familiar, big-brother manner was surfacing again. Caity bit her lip.

"Father has everyone treating me like some kind of ticking time bomb. Even I bought into it, though I wished everyone else would back off. It wasn't until you came along that I realized what a self-fulfilling prophesy I'd become. I want to see life as you do. Given that, I think there there'll be no need to worry in the first place. But you have to help me learn to do that."

Peter thought hard. "Your father's a doctor. He's sure there's nothing wrong right now?"

"_Yes_, he's just worked himself into this mindset because of Mother and because keeping me under a microscope has started to affect me. I'm indoors all the time. I'm not allowed any substantial physical exertion. It's taken me years to see this lurking outside the interests he'd placed in front of me. I think that if I started doing better, he might change his mind."

"How?"

"We'd start with the little things, like you said—taking walks, socializing, just being out and around people. You've set something in motion, and I want to keep it going."

Peter stared at the ground. "I don't want to end up making things worse for you…"

"Some days yield success, and others are failures. Yet the days still move forward. It's all part of progress, as long as we allow it to be." Caity touched his hand, turning so she could look into his eyes. "Please?"

She could see the thoughts working out in his head. He didn't want to aggravate any real problems, especially now that adults were involved. But part of him also recognized the victory of getting her this far. And that part wasn't ready to quit.

"Okay," he finally answered, nodding. "We'll start small. The warmer weather should help too, when it comes."


	3. Chapter 3

Half the excitement had to be hiding this from her father

Half the excitement had to be hiding this from her father. Caity enjoyed the freedom of spending afternoons walking and studying, which was relocated to the park as well once the weather permitted. But they always made sure to return in time to start dinner. The exhilaration gave her more energy the longer her antics went undetected. Not that her life had become _all_ secrets. Dr. Miller didn't mind the time they spent together in the evenings, which became more evident as the outside time increased. The mood of the entire house was uplifted, even if he didn't know exactly why. Until one day in late April.

Dr. Miller sighed contentedly as Caity went inside to fetch a sweater. Both she and Peter had lobbied to have supper out in the backyard, though with the setting sun, the air had grown chilly. "I can't help marveling at how well she seems to be doing these days. It's a miracle how this household has changed since you arrived. How do you do it?"

Peter chewed his lip bashfully. Maybe it was time to tell him, and risk the possible response. But no sooner had he opened his mouth when a series of loud thuds reached them from inside the house. Both he and Dr. Miller jumped out of their seats.

Caity was at the foot of the stairs, dazed. A welt was visible on her forehead—she must have hit the wall or banister on the way down—and her wrist was rapidly swelling. It took the combined efforts of Peter and Dr. Miller to gently lift her into the armchair.

"Caitlyn? Caity, can you hear me?" Dr. Miller asked as he set about checking for any serious injuries. She winced when he touched her wrist, but didn't say anything. "I need to fetch my bag and supplies. Watch her for a minute, would you?"

"What happened, Caity?" Peter whispered once Dr. Miller had disappeared. It was a second or two before her eyes focused on him. They were filling with tears.

"I should've suspected when I had trouble getting up the stairs," she mumbled. "The floor suddenly tilted when I was about halfway back down. Father's going to be furious when he finds out…"

"Shh, he's nothing but concerned for you. Just rest now." Peter pushed Caity's long hair from her face. So it was just a dizzy spell. They'd played a lively game of cricket with several schoolmates earlier. She would be fine in a couple days, aside, possibly, from her wrist.

Dr. Miller strode back into the room. "How are you feeling?" He poured a little iodine onto a small cloth bandage, and pressed it lightly to Caity's scraped forehead.

"Still a little dizzy," Caity replied. Unlike with Peter, she wouldn't meet her father's eyes.

"Can you move that wrist?"

She paused. "Yes, but it's frightfully painful."

"Hmm." The doctor studied her for several moments. "It looks like it's just a sprain, but I'd rather be sure. Peter, could you help her to the car?"

The ride to the hospital was uncomfortably silent. Dr. Miller kept whatever thoughts he was having to himself, while Caity stared at her hands the entire way. She was afraid of something, though Peter's guess was as good as anyone's. Then he was left to wait for some time in the general sitting area while the Millers disappeared behind white double doors…

"Sir, can I help you?"

Peter's head snapped up. A young, kindly-looking nurse was peering concernedly at him. Asleep! He glanced at the clock; it had been nearly two hours since he'd sat down to wait.

"Sir?"

"Would you happen to know how Caitlyn Miller is doing? Her father hasn't mentioned anything."

The nurse looked quizzical for a moment. "I can check." Then she, too, walked through the double doors. Peter sighed heavily and settled back into his seat. But the nurse was sharper than that, returning after merely three minutes.

"This way," she said briskly. "Dr. Miller wishes to speak to you in the hall before you enter the room, though." They walked nearly the length of the white hallway beyond the doors, turned left, and stopped just short of the third door. The nurse knocked. After a beat, Dr. Miller came out to join them.

"Thank you, Marci," he said, nodding to the young woman. She went back the way they had come, and Dr. Miller guided Peter by the arm a couple steps further from the door. "I'm afraid there are some pieces of information you should know about before I let you see her."

Peter felt as if a large weight had dropped into his stomach.

"I have lived in fear of this for a long time. Caity may not have told you, but her mother died some years ago from a very rare illness. Little is known about it, except that it is eventually fatal. Ca—its victims slowly lose mobility, independent living…and life altogether. Barely a handful of known cases have yielded successful recovery, and no one knows how. Miracles, I suppose." He swallowed with some difficulty. "Caity's condition is already fairly advanced and progressing more rapidly than other cases we've seen. She might live out the summer."

Shock left Peter's senses reeling. So Caity was sick after all, and very much so. _**Might**__ live out the __**summer**__?_ That gave her no more than four months left! This new reality pressed other realizations into focus: Caity's motive for remaining so isolated when they had first met, how young she really was, and how much Peter had become attracted to her. He had avoided the thought of this last conclusion for some time, but now he could no longer ignore it. He loved her.

"Now, I understand that the two of you have become close friends over the past months. Perhaps even a little more than friends, I daresay. And I'm sure this is quite a deep-felt shock for you. But maybe…it's time you moved on."

"What?" This last comment finally jolted Peter out of his thoughts as if he were struck by lightning.

"Please don't take offense at this. We're both grateful for the happiness you brought back into this family, even if it was only for a short time. There's simply nothing more you can do here. Find a nice girl, get married, have the life a young man like you deserves. Caity would want that for you."

"And what about her?" countered Peter. "I can't just abandon her to her fate. I care about her too much to do that! And I'll do anything to support her when she needs it the most."

"All I'm saying is that death is the worst time to be attached to someone. It's not fair to either of you if you cling to this fragile love, only to have it snatched away."

"But isn't that what love is? Staying until the end when even common sense speaks to the contrary? I understand you're trying to return the kindness, and I appreciate it. What I'm trying to say is I'm _willing_ to walk this path for Caity, no matter how hard it becomes."

Dr. Miller started to retort, but halted as Peter's last words sunk in. The most furious of battles seemed to be going on behind his anxiety-fraught eyes. To endure the same heart-wrenching situation twice must be devastating. Finally, the older man swallowed hard and spoke.

"What about your family? What would they think of your decision?"

"I think they would understand," Peter replied steadily. "I've told them a lot about you and Caity; they were actually hoping to visit sometime. Mum's been searching for a new house, with all the damage in Finchley, although the others have been begging to go to the country on holiday." A thought struck him suddenly. "What if we took Caity there?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Out to the country. A friend of mine wrote me not too long ago saying that life's gotten too quiet up north. I'm sure he'd be delighted to have you. Open space, clean air, away from all the strain of the war. It's the kind of environment she loves and thrives in. I know the decision is yours, but I think she would do better there."

Dr. Miller pondered the suggestion with both apparent interest and concern. "I suppose…but the specialist would have to deem her able to travel. At this point, much is still uncertain. But I am grateful for your contribution, Peter. And if we do go, your family is welcome join us, while possible. Caity would like that."

"I'll tell them. So it may be a little longer before I see them again."

"And they will be okay with that? It's already been such a long time, at least for your mother."

"We've discussed that. Mum knows how much Caity means to me."

"I had to ask. I'm a parent, too," Dr. Miller pointed out, showing a ghost of a smile.

Peter nodded. "Um, is it alright if I see Caity? Just for a little while?"

"If she's still awake. The specialist wants her to get plenty of rest for the time being. Otherwise, we should have a fairly normal life. For now." Dr. Miller's face fell again. Peter clapped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't lose heart now. She still has time; we'll make the best of it."

Yet Peter felt suddenly tense as he turned the handle of the door to Caity's room. She was propped up on pillows in bed, face a little pale but otherwise looking nothing like a person who was dying. The only difference was her smile, which seemed to carry an apology.

"How're you feeling?" he asked quietly. He pulled a chair up next to the bed.

"Mmm, not too bad. Bit of a headache." She smiled more broadly at her own quip. "It's still not going to be terribly noticeable for awhile yet, though."

Peter suddenly understood why Dr. Miller was so wrought by this. _Yet_ gave him a sickening feeling of forebode. "W-what's it going to be like, do you think?"

"Well, I'll just gradually lose the ability to do things over time, until…until there's no strength for even basic functions. Father said sometimes Mother's limbs and joints were painful from disuse, but other than that, I don't know."

"I see." This was going to be just as painful for him, too, he could tell.

"Will we still be able to have our outings to the park?"

"What?" Peter was jerked once more back out of his thoughts. For the first time, Caity seemed small, young. "But you should rest."

Caity rolled her eyes. "I'm not that far gone. We do know that how much one moves around doesn't affect the progress of the illness itself. I want to make as much use of time as I can. Father hasn't convinced you to leave, has he?"

Her innocence made Peter smile in spite of himself. Affectionately, he took her hand in both of his. "As long as you'll have me, I'll gladly stand by you." He couldn't bring himself to confess the depth of his feelings immediately.


	4. Chapter 4

After a precautionary night at the hospital, Caity was allowed to return home with the specialist's wary approval for travel

After a precautionary night at the hospital, Caity was allowed to return home with the specialist's wary approval for travel. Plans were swiftly made to leave for the country as soon as the school term was over—Caity insisted upon it. She could handle a day's worth of classes, though she was usually tired in the evenings. Dr. Miller put his foot down, however, by limiting the park outings considerably. Caity didn't take well to her confinement, and spent as much time as weather allowed out in the back garden, which had once been her mother's joy. She also delighted in news from Peter's family, as Susan returned from America and Mrs. Pevensie began arrangements on a house not far from the Millers'. A distant relative had decided a change of scene was in order.

Summer came at long last. Mrs. Vincent, the sprightly widow next door, agreed to care for the house while the Millers and Peter prepared for an extended stay at Professor Kirke's estate. The old man was more than happy to accommodate them. Their journey proved uneventful, though Caity slept for a fair bit of the train ride. Arriving at the homely little platform brought a flood of memories for Peter.

"How close is the house?" Caity asked. She was excited about the trip, but weariness had become evident in her voice.

"Not far," said Peter. "Just as soon as…ah, here she is now."

A hawk-featured woman appeared around the corner, driving a horse-drawn cart.

"Mrs. Macready, this is Dr. Miller and his daughter, Caity," Peter announced. "They're the friends I wrote about."

Mrs. Macready nodded curtly, and gestured at the back of the cart. Once they were off again, Peter covered Caity's eyes.

"I want it to be a surprise."

Caity waited impatiently as they bumped and bounced along for some time. She was just about to ask how much longer, when Peter's hands finally released her. Her mouth fell open at the sight that met her eyes. The huge manor loomed behind the trees, surrounded by green, equally-huge grounds. Everything was immaculately kept, and yet held a sense of wildness about it. To top it off, a whimsical, white-haired man in a sweater and spectacles was waiting on the stairs.

"Professor," Peter greeted, climbing down and shaking the man's hand.

"Peter, my dear boy," replied the Professor. He was positively beaming with excitement. "These are your friends, I presume?"

"Yes." Peter helped Caity climbed down, then proceeded to take the luggage handed to him by her father. "This is Dr. Miller and his daughter, Caity. Everyone, this is Professor Kirke."

"Pleasure to meet you, pleasure to meet you," said the Professor, shaking hands all around. "So glad you could come. I daresay the house has been too quiet without you children. That will be all, Mrs. Macready, thank you. Come along now, I'll show you all inside."

Mrs. Macready looked scandalized, but she did as she was told.

They were shown to their rooms first, so they could drop off their luggage. Caity's was a spacious first floor accommodation that Peter hadn't known existed, while the other guest rooms were still upstairs. Then Professor Kirke gave them all a personal tour.

"And this is one of my favorite places in the house," he said as they entered a room filled with old books, a suit of armor, and beautiful stained-glass windows. "Orderly and serene, though it has seen less quiet times in the past." His eyes tinkled over their spectacles at Peter, who dropped his own gaze sheepishly.

"We hit a cricket ball up here once," he muttered when the Professor wouldn't look away. "It broke the window and toppled the armor."

"Which was kindly left unpunished," the Professor finished.

"What's up there?" asked Caity as they walked past a narrow flight of stairs.

"Oh, just a couple more musty rooms with nothing special in them," the Professor blustered, still watching Peter. The boy was eyeing the stairs with a faraway look. Caity herself couldn't help but feel the pull of curiosity to the mysterious upper level.

The tour ended in the dining room just in time for supper. Caity found she like the old Professor very much, and, surprisingly, so did her father. He took up the offer of brandy and a pipe on the terrace, leaving Peter and Caity to themselves.

"So what's really up there?" she asked hopefully. Despite her weariness from the journey and walking about the house, a strange excitement was threatening to bubble over in her chest.

Peter's boyish grin returned. "Come on." Leading Caity by the hand, he navigated the maze of halls, rooms, and stairs until they made it to the flight in question. The first door was ignored completely; Peter opened the second one.

Inside was completely bare, except for the huge, handsomely carved wardrobe at the far end.

"A magnificent work of art. You don't really see the likes of it anymore, now with everything made on assembly lines," Caity breathed. "But if you don't mind my asking, is this all?"

"Yes." Peter couldn't quite mask his disappointment quick enough. "I like the story that goes with it, though…the Professor told us, and it's played out in the carvings…" They sat down on the dusty floor, and he proceeded to tell Caity about a boy whose uncle was a magician, a queen from another world, and how a place called Narnia was born.

Caity knew it could only be a story; there was no such thing as magic and traveling to other worlds. And yet, the story reawakened childhood imagination she thought she'd lost.

"It sounds like a lovely place to live," she mused after Peter had finished. "And—what did you call him—Aslan, I would like to have met him, if he were real. A talking, gentleman of a lion…"

"Sometimes he does seem real, when you're out on the grounds on a clear summer's day," Peter said quietly. Caity had the slightest impression that those were not the exact words he wanted to say, but was distracted by the dark scene outside the window.

"Oh it must be terribly late by now! We really should go to bed."

They crept carefully through the house until they came to Caity's door. Peter nodded his goodnight and started off for his own room.

"Peter?" Caity whispered. The boy stopped and turned. "I was just wondering, do you think we could arrange a picnic on the grounds tomorrow? Your story has me wanting to explore ever so badly."

Peter thought for a moment, then nodded, smiling warmly. "I think one is in order, after spending nearly all of today indoors. There's so much to show you. But first, sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Peter."

But luck was not as keen to help. Caity awoke the next morning feeling stiff and achy, so her father requested that she stay at the house, to her displeasure. So she and Peter tried to remain occupied first with the travel reading they had brought, then with exploring the Professor's expansive collection. Much of the library was antique—Peter found a book with a publishing date of 1792. It was almost a journey in its own right to examine the pages, imaging who all must have done so before. However, it could only hold their fascination for so long, and as Caity began to feel better, a steady rain set in.

"Ooo, we'll never be able to go out at this rate," she groaned.

"If I weren't old enough to know better, I'd suggest something like hide-and-seek. This house is excellent for it."

Caity fought down a laugh as she looked at Peter. "Hide-and-seek?"

"Silly, I know. Lucy would ask to play all the time. I wouldn't expect you to want—"

"Well, why not?'

Peter did a double-take. "Sorry?"

"It's just the two of us, with Father and the Professor getting on so nicely. I think a session of hide-and-seek would be fun."

So they spent the morning hiding and seeking in turns, to great effect. Peter was amazed at some of the spaces Caity got herself into. In one case, she managed to climb on top of the Narnia wardrobe—and then couldn't get down. She was very good at picking an obscure variety of hiding spots, beating Peter easily. By lunchtime, both were dirty, disheveled, and in much higher spirits than before.

"What have you been up to?" Dr. miller asked, an amused expression on his face. Peter and Caity could only barely contain their laughter as they went to wash up.


	5. Chapter 5

The fourth day of their stay finally yielded to their impatience by dawning dry and clear

The fourth day of their stay finally yielded to their impatience by dawning dry and clear. Caity wasted no time in preparations for a day outside, and was fully ready by the time Peter appeared for breakfast.

"Gimme ju-ju-just a minute," he yawned sleepily. The previous night had been another late one. Caity was curious about any other Narnia stories, and Peter had obliged with how Jadis, the queen from another world, had reappeared and taken Narnia as her own kingdom. It was a very sad, and lengthy, story.

Soon they were underway. Peter insisted on carrying the basket, all the while pointing out the many details of the property and occasionally divulging some funny incident connected to them. Caity couldn't take it in fast enough. Everything was so fresh and different and wild somehow, compared to London.

"And here is probably our most frequented spot," Peter was saying. "Both shade and sun for picnics and games, the stream for swimming—you don't have to, of course."

"I would love to if we come down here again, but for now, the walk has made me tired," replied Caity, flopping on the freshly-spread blanket. "Why don't we go ahead and eat lunch?"

"Agreed."

They enjoyed the food and peaceful atmosphere for several minutes without speaking. Caity still couldn't keep her mind from being amazed at the scene around them. She may not be acquainted with Peter's Aslan, but she could understand why the character felt real out here.

"It's almost magical," she breathed.

"What?" Peter asked through a mouthful of apple.

"I said this feels almost magical," she repeated, and smacked his arm playfully. "Weren't you listening?"

Peter cowered in mock fear. "Yes, yes, I was listening!" But the use of both arms to cover his head meant that he could no longer prop himself up on the gentle slope, and he nearly rolled into the stream. He returned laughing, though, so apparently no harm had been done.

"Yes, I heard you; I was just caught off guard that you suddenly voiced your thoughts. It does feel magical out here—that's why I picked this spot. It reminds me of Narnia."

"Narnia! Of course!" Caity gazed around, smiling, viewing her surroundings with new eyes. "Speaking of which, what's the next part of the story?"

Peter cocked a sly eyebrow. "What makes you think there is one?"

"Oh Peter, surely the White Witch doesn't reign victorious forever. And the prophecy you mentioned. Surely something comes of it. That _can't_ be the end!"

"Alright, alright. There is more to it, a lot more. After one hundred years of winter, without Christmas, a strange thing happened in Narnia…" And he proceeded to tell Caity about four children who found their way into Narnia, and how they defeated the White Witch to become Kings and Queens at Cair Paravel. Caity could imagine Peter as the oldest, a big brother struggling to feel confident in his responsibilities to his family and Narnia. Not to mention that he looked the part very well.

"I wish I could see Narnia someday," she sighed as they headed back to the house. It was nearly suppertime, and the sun was beginning to set in all its glory.

"That would be nice," agreed Peter. "But only children are allowed to come to Narnia. We'd be too old."

"Spoil sport. We're not quite grown up yet, you know. I think Aslan would make an exception."

"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. He doesn't always make decisions for one's happiness; he does what he believes is best."

Caity pondered the glowing scenery around her. "Then what if we brought a piece of it here? We both agree it reminds us of Narnia."

"And how would we do that? We're not _that_ young anymore, either."

"If we can enjoy playing hide-and-seek, we can let our imaginations wander from time to time," Caity pointed out. "You tell stories in excellent detail. If you know your characters, it's not hard to apply them wherever you want. It's not like anyone come across us, and besides—" The rest of her explanation was cut off by a yelp of surprise as she stumbled on the slope. Peter caught her arm.

"Are you okay?"

Caity took a moment to regain her composure. "Yes, thank you. I must have slipped on a smooth patch of grass." She was careful not to betray any sign of the thought that had crossed both of their minds.

"Anyway, you were saying?"

"Oh yes. Narnia seems to be built on the foundation of 'believing is seeing.' The problem about growing up is sometimes we lose that ability. You taught me that."

She could see that she'd won Peter over. "And it's not like we're going to be running around, battling ogres and witches. Just…experiencing it. For what it is."

So the outings continued whenever possible. It was their secret, when they went out to explore "Narnia." Once or twice, they even wore their bathing suits under their clothes so as to swim in the stream when it got hot. However, Caity continued to hide from Peter the fact that the long trek was becoming difficult for her to manage. She didn't want to lose the wonderful escape she'd found, even though she knew it was only a matter of time before he was bound to notice. Two, three weeks passed, and she still couldn't bring herself to tell him.

"Are you feeling well? You're looking a bit peaky."

"Hmm? Oh, it might just be the shade. I'm a little tired, though. The warm day has put me in the mood for a nap."

"Maybe we should head back, then. It _is_ getting late, but you could still catch your nap before dinner."

Caity allowed Peter to help her up, and they set out for the house. Suddenly the familiar journey seemed longer and more exhausting than she remembered; an odd dizziness began to wash over her. She was having difficulty keeping up, for Peter could take longer strides to begin with. Everything felt stiff. A wave of panic brought the realization that she was going to pass out.

"Pe-Peter," she gasped. "I think I might…" But everything went black before she could finish.

"Her mother would have loved all of this," Dr. Miller told the Professor. They'd taken the habit of tea on the back lawn, and long, educated conversations while they watched for the young couple to return from their almost daily jaunts. "When I see Caity these days, I see Margaret."

"She died in 1929, God rest her soul, of an extremely rare motor neuron disease. There is no cure and essentially no way of surviving it. What worries me is that Caity is going to inherit it from her mother."

"Well, she seems healthy and active enough to me. It's a shame I never had children."

"Yes, they really are a blessing."

"Dr. Miller! Professor Kirke!"

Peter came staggering up the lawn, cradling a limp form in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dr

"Dr. Miller! Professor Kirke!"

Peter came staggering up the lawn, cradling a limp form in his arms. Both older men rushed to help. "What's happened?"

"She just passed out on the journey back," Peter gasped. "But she said she was fine up until then."

"Dear God," Dr. Miller whispered, horrified. He scooped Caity up to take her to her room, while the Professor called for a doctor. Peter was left to catch his breath and feel utterly helpless.

The wait was unbearable. The nearest specialist took an hour to arrive, and then he and Dr. Miller held an extensive discussion with the bedroom door closed. All Peter could do was sit in the hallway. As soon as it opened, he was up at attention.

Dr. Miller beat him to the punch. "I should have been watching more carefully. The disease has worked heavily on her legs; Dr. Hammond believes she might be able to walk for another week or two. She certainly won't be able to manage the hills anymore. I'm sorry."

"_You're_ sorry? This isn't your fault, Dr. Miller! You care for her even more than I do. Don't give up in her yet." Peter paused for a moment to regain his composure. "There has to be something we can do. Anything."

"I wish there were," murmured Dr. Miller. "But all that we have available would only serve to make her comfortable. I'm simply at a loss, just like before…" He wandered vaguely towards the kitchen.

Peter swallowed the hard lump that had appeared in his throat. Caity's believed good stamina had lulled him into avoiding the realization that she was sick. Now the truth had finally come back in full force, and it seemed here to stay. She soon would never walk again.

When he entered Caity's room, the slight girl was awake but drowsy. Pillows propped her frighteningly limp body. A stab of fear and heartache threatened Peter's composure.

"Well you're looking sad as cold tea," jested Caity. When Peter didn't react the way she'd hoped, her gaze dropped to the coverlet. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"It's not? The doctor says in a couple weeks you'll no longer be able to walk!"

"I understand it's hard to watch, my father is in the same way, but I'm still—"

"You're _dying_!" Peter cried before he could stop himself. "And I'm just supposed to sit by and let it happen! I can't stand to think of it!"

Caity's smoky-blue eyes filled with tears. Apparently this reaction had been long in coming; even her hands shook with emotion. "I know. I know more than either of you ever could. Is it too much to ask if it's all I can do to keep myself from being scared?"

Instantly, the burst of frustration Peter felt crumbled. He rushed to sit on the edge of the bed, holding Caity tightly against his chest. What had possessed him to think that shouting the truth at her would make anything better? All it did was remind her of the situation she faced, which wasn't fair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"I can't blame you for a natural reaction," Caity mumbled into his shirt. "I just don't want it to ruin the time I still have. I don't want to lose everything that you've given me."

"Sorry? What have I given you?"

"A will to live life, that wonderful sense of adventure that you have, Narnia…the past months have been more precious to me than I could ever have imagined."

Peter had to sniffle back his own tears. Then a loud gurgling sound disrupted the moment.

What was that?" he asked, confused.

Caity ventured a smile. "I think that was my stomach." They both gave in to nervous laughter.

"Well, dinner should be ready shortly."

"Peter?" Caity pulled away just enough that she could see his face. "Promise me something. Will you help make things has normal as possible? I still want to make the most of it as I can."

"If I'm capable, I'll do it. Of course, we can't disregard your dad entirely, if it comes to it."

"I know. But we have to start somewhere. For instance, dinner would be nice." She began to pull the bedcovers off so she could stand. In the urgency of the moment, she had been left fully-dressed. It took her a moment to steady herself.

"Will you be alright?" asked Peter.

"Yes. Yes, I think short distances will be manageable for awhile yet. And there are things in the house to help me."

She made it to the dining room without assistance. But the atmosphere at the table was a little more subdued than usual. Caity and Professor Kirke chatted amiably. Dr. Miller was quiet. Later, once they'd all gone to bed, Peter lay awake for hours yet, contemplating the weeks ahead. Could he really bear to watch her go through this?

Seeing her appear on her own at breakfast the next morning was encouraging, as if it had all been a bad dream. Even Dr. Miller was a little less dire.

"Come on, I want to get an early start," Caity finally said, tugging at Peter's hand. "The baby birds in the oak tree should be ready to fly any day now; I want to see them."

Peter caught the wary glance from Dr. Miller. "I'll take care of her, don't worry," he said as he was pulled out of the room. "Hey, slow down. You don't want to go tiring yourself out before we even start."

Caity looked at him shrewdly over her shoulder, but promptly stumbled over the back step. Peter caught her and stopped. When she met his gaze, her expression was sheepish. "It…it seems such a long way now…"

"We can find a closer spot, if we need to," Peter said gently. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But I like our spot. I feel comfortable there."

"I know, but if you can't manage the distance…your father—"

"Peter, you promised not to do this." Caity's face was hurt, not argumentative. All she wanted was for things to feel normal.

"Tell, you what—how about if you hold the basket, and I'll carry you down to the stream? Would that be alright?"

Caity pondered the basket in Peter's hand. "I suppose. But I can't help feeling…like everything's slipping through my fingers, bit by bit. It's so hard to accept sometimes."

"I know. Come here." Peter set down the basket and hugged Caity. "I'm not going anywhere, as long as you want me to be here."

"Shall we, then?" Caity asked, with the smallest of smiles. She took up the basket, and clung tentatively to Peter's shoulders as he lifted her. Even going down hill, however, soon made his breathing difficult and his face shiny with sweat. He tried not to let his fatigue show.

"This is good enough," Caity pronounced as the oak tree came into sight. She kissed his cheek before sliding down and walking stiffly the rest of the way. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Father hadn't taken such a shine to you so early on. Needless to say he was a little protective of me, although he began dropping hints that I should be considering marriage soon, just before you came."

"That's a bit of a drastic jump, from no exposure to marriage. Isn't it a bit out of character, too, if he had such a grim outlook on your health?" Peter asked as they spread the blanket and sat down.

"Well, the pointlessness of relationships was mainly me, as a sort of retaliation to the change. Keep in mind that you can only be told something for so long before you begin to believe it yourself. I didn't have any close friends, and boys were certainly out of the question, at first. It was like Father expected me to pop off in the next five minutes. I suppose since I had lived this far, he thought it might be worth attempting some sort of normal life. Of course, by then, I had conceded to the fate he'd engrained into my thinking. Then you came along.

"Not only did you teach me to enjoy life, but you taught him as well, Peter. He has happiness to look back on, and I think that's what'll carry him through. He was trapped in his fears, you know. Losing me as he expected all along would have broken him in that state. We owe you so much."

She ended her speech by reaching for a sandwich in the basket, but Peter caught her hand. "You speak as if you were already gone. There's still time—you can fight this! There are survivors!" H knew he was being selfish and childish, but he couldn't give up hope yet.

Caity smiled. "I know. It's just such a small chance. As hard as it is to accept, I think I'd rather be prepared for the worst and maybe be surprised, than hope for the best and be disappointed. That's why Father tried to dissuade you from being part of our family; love means taking the journey together. Speaking of which, have you heard from your family lately?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you—I'm sorry—your dad said it was still okay for them to come up for a visit. I received the letter today that they'll be arriving on the Sunday train…if it's still alright with you, of course."

"If? Of course it's still okay! I've been wanting to meet them ever so badly."

"Alright, alright, I was just making sure. I didn't want to create too much fuss for you." Peter slipped his arm loosely around Caity's waist. She tried to look stern of the gesture, but the smile creeping onto her face made it nearly impossible. Finally, she gave it up.

"That was sweet of you, thinking of my welfare first. I promise it won't be a bother at all."

She looked up at him; the dappled light tinted her gray-blue eyes to the clear color of the sky. Peter couldn't stop staring at them. Then he found himself moving closer, slowly. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. And yet, he kissed her as if he'd meant to all along.

Caity went scarlet, although it was some time before she broke it off. "I supposed it was only a matter of time before it happened. This has been more than a friendship for awhile, hasn't it?"

Peter shrugged. "I think we're just the last ones to realize it."

"Knowing is enough," Caity sighed. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "It helps to know you're here for me."


	7. Chapter 7

"_It helps to know you're here for me."_

This bolstered Peter as well, knowing he was making a difference. The following days were a mixture of good and bad. Rain returned frequently, and Dr. Miller wanted to keep an increasingly close watch on his daughter. But Caity herself refused to be discouraged. When the Pevensies arrived on Sunday evening, she was standing on her own to greet them.

"Peter!" Lucy cried as soon as the cart was close enough to the house. She bowled into him, laugh and hugging him tightly. Close behind was Susan, Edmund, who had nearly caught Peter in height, and finally their mother.

"Oh, I've missed you so much!" Tears were already streaming down her face as she embraced him for the first time in nearly two years. Peter comforted her until she could compose herself again. "My grown up son…your father would be so proud of you right now."

"How is Dad? Nothing's happened, has it?" the thought hadn't occurred to him, not being in direct contact.

"No, no, no, he's just fine, last we heard. They've taken him off the front for the moment, though he's still somewhere in Northern Europe. They simply aren't willing to let forces return home until victory is more certain."

Peter bowed his head a little. "So, he's stuck there, even though he's supposed to be discharged before Christmas?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, Peter," Caity made herself known for the first time, walking carefully up to join them.

"Everyone, this is Caity Miller. She and her dad have been boarding me for school, and…well, we really like each other," Peter announced. His hand slipped around hers at the last part. "Caity, this is my mum, Helen, and Susan, Edmund, and Lucy."

"Hello," Caity said shyly. They all returned the greeting.

"Peter's said an awful lot of nice things about you in his letters," Lucy piped up. Caity blushed and glanced Peter, who guiltily ducked again.

"Supper should be ready soon. You can meet Dr. Miller," he mumbled. Luggage was distributed to the right rooms. Caity disappeared until the meal was served. Peter didn't say anything, but he was pretty sure she was worn out from the bustle, much as she denied it.

His siblings had obviously been instructed not to ask about certain subjects. They stuck primarily to catching up, really only asking Caity questions when she was a part of Peter's stories. He wasn't sure he liked this arrangement better. Was it less painful to shut away what was still there?

Peter found it difficult to split his time between his family and being alone with Caity. A couple of picnics were made into group affairs, close to the manor. Lucy had taken very fondly to Caity despite her steadily worsening condition. Even Edmund was pleasant. But it couldn't last forever.

Caity finally had to give in the fact that she couldn't make it farther than across a room without help. Professor Kirke dug out an old wheelchair from the attic for her. Though she was grateful, she was very quiet when they set out for what Dr. Miller insisted be their last trip to the stream.

"It's not so bad," Peter tried to comfort her. "This way is much faster, and it lets you save your energy for swimming."

"That's not the problem," Caity replied sullenly. "I feel…trapped. And my knees and ankles have been aching all morning from not being able to move."

Peter bit his lip at the new development. But they both cheered up as the sun peeked out and they sat down to eat. Caity had caught hints of a surprise being in the works, but was unable to wrest further information out of Peter. Two glorious hours passed, as if nothing was amiss.

"Whew, I hadn't realized how hot it's gotten," Caity mused, fanning herself with her hat. "The stream sounds quite inviting, don't you think?"

"Whenever you're ready," said Peter. Out of courtesy, he turned away while they both slipped out of the clothes hiding their bathing suits. Then he gathered Caity into his arms, and carefully made his way down to the water. Though somewhat narrow, the stream was clear, and came up passed his waist at the center.

Caity smiled contentedly as the cool water swirled around her, making her weightless. Leaving one arm hooked around Peter's neck as an anchor, she slowly fanned the other back and forth in the current. Peter took the cue to spin her around, which made her laugh. Here, she was free again.

"I don't have to pretend anymore," she said after several minutes of water antics. Peter was half-crouching in the water now; they both floated, at eye level with each other, though not so much that Caity drifted out of his arms.

"Pretend what?"

"Narnia. I think going to Narnia is about journeying into yourself. Conquering fears, achieving dreams…learning to walk the world without forgetting how to fly. And I've found my Narnia, Peter Pevensie. Thank you." She kissed him softly.

A wave of despair suddenly washed over Peter. "I don't want to lose you. I can't." His voice cracked.

"Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen," Caity recited from Peter's own story. Unable to retort to this, he wrestled with something else he'd been meaning to say.

"Caity…I know that this wouldn't be practical, given the circumstances," he began haltingly, "but…if everything were…_normal_…if we had more time, would you have…married me?" The question had to be pointless now, even stupid, but he had to know what could have been. Maybe knowing he'd made the right choice would help ease the pain.

She gazed at him with those mysterious eyes, her face framed by dark, glistening hair. "It would be a comfort to leave this world knowing that we were together 'til the end."

"Don't say it that way." Tears sprang unbidden to Peter's own eyes. "You would say yes, though?"

Caity nodded. Smiling, even through the tears, Peter kissed her forehead.

She came to cherish that moment, as her condition began to decline rapidly. Picnics on the back lawn were still allowed, sometimes accompanied by games of cricket for entertainment. But all she could do was watch. Fatigue and dull aching plagued her almost constantly, and while her father enjoyed having their guests around, he almost never let her out of his sight if she was outside her room.

Soon, even that became a special rarity. First sitting, then the simple task of getting out of bed seemed impossible for Caity. Mrs. Macready, oddly enough, was suddenly quite helpful. And there was never a shortage of visitors to her room. Lucy would bring bouquets of fresh flowers, or Professor Kirke would surprise her with a good book in hand, which he would read for hours at a time. Much time was spent with her father or Peter, of course. When she wasn't sleeping.

But slowly, the days became monotonous and difficult. The local doctor checked on her from time to time, though all he could really do was give her medicine to help with the pain. Sometimes Caity would simply cry while Peter held her. This was one thing that she wouldn't afford her father if she could help it. He was already in such a state over her that she couldn't let herself cause him more grief.

One morning, she was woken up by the most frightful thing imaginable—she couldn't breathe properly. Peter arrived to find her panicking.

"Shh, it's okay, it's going to be okay…" he repeated soothingly, cradling her and rubbing her back.

"I didn't—want to know. Not like this," whimpered Caity. Her breathing was coming in gasps.

Feeling totally helpless, Peter simply hugged her to his chest. "Shh, just calm down. You'll breathe easier if you calm down. That's it…" He jumped slightly as Dr. Miller burst into the room. The disheveled man took in the scene at a glanceand missed the chair he tried to collapse in by two inches. Caity's breathing became less frenzied, her eyes closing for longer periods of time. Pain occasionally flitted across her face. _This is it,_ Peter realized with a jolt. He could almost feel the fluttering beat of her heart growing weaker. She could die right here, in his arms. And there was no way for him to stop it.

Suddenly, Aslan burst into his thoughts. The stories! Aslan had healed people in the real world before; why not now? _She believed in you from the start, even though she'd never been to Narnia. That's more than I ever did. But if it's really her time, do you think she could at least come to your country? I've never asked for anything in life, except this. Please, if you're willing…_


	8. Chapter 8

After what seemed like an eternity of struggling, a great weight finally lifted from Caity's chest

After what seemed like an eternity of struggling, a great weight finally lifted from Caity's chest. She was floating in blackness, yet had the strangest sense that it wasn't _empty_ blackness. Like night without moon or stars. And just as that thought occurred, the tiniest hint of light began to show on a horizon ahead.

_I've never seen such a clear, beautiful sunrise,_ she thought in awe.

The light continued to grow, revealing to her a green, gently rolling landscape. Her bare feet touched soft grass. A cool breeze ruffled the skirt of her nightgown. She didn't feel tired or achy here. This place seemed untouched by illness, pain, or despair. Here she felt at peace.

With morning in full bloom, Caity's surroundings deemed it time to reveal the next glorious sight. Out of the distant mists, almost glowing himself, was a huge, kind-faced, golden lion.

"Aslan," Caity breathed. She felt the need to curtsey as the benevolent guardian of Peter's stories drew level with her.

"There is no need for that, dear one. You have suffered much to get here." The lion's voice was as gentle as his eyes, and seemed to fill Caity like wind in a sail.

"Aslan—sir—is this Narnia?"

The great lion laughed, a playful sound that only hinted at the roar he was capable of. Yet it was not mocking. "No, Caity Miller, it is not. We are far across the sea, beyond the eastern end of the world. This is my country. But come this way, and you may see Narnia as it was told to you."

They walked only a short distance when a clear pool opened up in the grass. Scene after scene appeared on its surface, more real than Caity had imagined them. At the coronation of the four kings and queens, there were Peter and his siblings on the thrones at Cair Paravel.

"It's wonderful," she pronounced after the last image had faded. Her attention returned to the landscape around her. "Am I here to stay, Aslan? I suppose leaving the manor behind means…I've died."

The lion didn't move, though Caity knew he was smiling. "Not quite. I have brought you here at the request of a dear friend. He did not seek personal satisfaction or comfort, but wanted in his heart for you to be happy. Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen.

"That wish has been fulfilled. However, it comes with a great price. You may not just share this knowledge with anyone. Only those with an open heart and a child's innocence can receive the gift that you and the Pevensies have been given."

"But how will I know?" asked Caity.

"You will…Peter did. And so I will grant his own wish, which he set aside for yours. You will return to your world. And when you have lived out the years ahead, then you may return to stay here."

Caity nodded, feeling the slightest reluctance to leave her newfound paradise. "I understand, sir." As soon as she said this, the mist closed in and some invisible force began to pull her back the way she'd come. Aslan's farewell was only just audible before the blackness enveloped her once more.


	9. Chapter 9

She must have lost consciousness for some time, because everything felt different when she was next aware

She must have lost consciousness for some time, because everything felt different when she was next aware. The room around her was dark except for a few flickering candles. Her body didn't feel quite so heavy, though she was unsure whether to try moving yet. But most noticeably, two people had fallen asleep holding her hands—her father on the left, and Peter on the right.

Her father was the lighter sleeper, waking almost immediately. "Caitlyn? Oh, thank you God, Caity, darling, we thought we'd lost you. How are you feeling? You hadn't stirred in nearly three days now."

"Shh, Father, don't fuss," Caity chided softly. Peter was still fast asleep. "I'm feeling a little stronger than before. This may yet turn around. But how is he? You both look awfully pale."

"Well, it's worth it to see color in your cheeks again. Neither of us have slept much until now. Peter may have held out a little longer than I. Remarkable character, I must say. I'll admit I was beginning to hope you two would have a future."

"And we still can. I haven't died yet. It would be nice to see you both get some proper rest. Could you make up a bed for Peter over there in the corner? I promise I won't pop off while you're gone."

Her father cracked a genuine smile, and consented to go. Caity was left to gaze at the tousled mop on her other side. Peter really had kept his word, almost to where he'd overdone himself. When her father returned to move the young man, he didn't stir at all.

Things were different, however, when Caity next awoke.

"Wwha—oh no—_no_—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall—" Peter was beside himself, apparently not able to see her curled up on the far side of the bed.

Caity grimaced and rolled over. "Peter, what are you talking about?"

"—I _swore_ I would stay with you until the end, and I couldn't hold out—" He finally reached the side of the bed, and realized Caity was looking straight at him. For a moment, he simply stared back. Then relief sent him to his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought…how are you feeling?"

"Mmm, tired, but not too bad," Caity whispered. She glanced around to be sure they were alone. "I spoke with Aslan, in his country."

Peter's mouth fell open. "He—you—_really_?"

"Yes. He showed me what Narnia looked like…I always imagined you were High King. It was wonderful, even though he said I couldn't stay."

"Why not?"

Because he sent me back here. Said I would live out the years before returning to stay for good. He's just as I imagined from your stories, maybe even better. It was amazing."

"I know, he is that way," croaked Peter. Tears were brimming in his eyes again. "And now he's granted you the chance to live."

Caity already knew in her heart Aslan's meaning, but it still filled her with excitement to hear it proclaimed out loud, if quietly. Only one thing lessened that happiness. "I suppose we'll have to leave Father out of the secret, won't we?"

"I'm afraid so. It's a cost we have to bear, believing in Narnia. Because not everyone is open what they can't necessarily see. Even I was that way at first. Lucy had the hardest time convincing us of Aslan, and Narnia. You two are a lot alike."

Caity fidgeted with the coverlet. "I've been thinking about that…that question you asked. At the stream? I confess I didn't think much of it at the time, what with the likelihood of it actually happening." She felt bad already as Peter's face fell.

"I suppose it was spur-of-the-moment. Don't feel pressured to keep to your answer if it's not really how you wanted to live. I'll understand."

"I just wonder how it would affect your future. For instance, have you thought about a career for yourself? Handling school, or establishing a career, or something while getting married is not a burden I'd want to place on you, that's all."

"Hey, I didn't say you'd have to marry me immediately. Call it a long engagement, until I get on my feet." Then his face darkened again. "Of course, I wouldn't want to make you wait for me, either. 'T wouldn't be fair."

Caity looked Peter straight in the eye. "Tell me something. All factors and choices aside, do you honestly want to marry me?" She started for a moment at the intensity with which he returned the gaze.

"If I could do _anything_ to make it work, for both of us, I would, Caity."

"A smile spread across Caity's face. "Then I'm willing to do the same. To stand by you as long as it takes, and maybe help in my own right." She paused, a curious thought entering her mind. "You know, with all the time you spent talking about Narnia, I don't think you ever mentioned what ambitions you had here, in this world."

"And to be honest," Peter told her, "I haven't really given it thought. Teaching struck my fancy for awhile. I've always been fascinated by history and culture, and the ways in which we share them. Eventually, if I can afford to, I would like to write stories of my own."

"I'd have to agree with that one. You're quite the talented storyteller, in my opinion." Caity squeezed his hand. Peter rose and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Caity. More than anything."

"I know."

The next two months were tedious, but cause for celebration. Caity continued to regain strength until she was well enough to travel again; Dr. Miller had been absent for far too long after all the complications. The Pevensies found a new house only a short distance from the Millers', enabling Peter to help Caity with everything from her continued recovery to the studies her father had encouraged her to continue as well. Both of them had been accepted into London College. Soon, all that remained of the summer's ordeal was stiffness in her left knee and ankle, similar to what polio survivors encountered. Longer distances usually required a cane. Caity felt a new deep admiration for people like the Americans' President Roosevelt.

So life continued on, despite the spreading of the war to nearly every continent in the world. News from the front still arrived in Mr. Pevensie's letters, and efforts at home pitched in to rebuild London. Peter and Caity existed happily knowing that they had a future together to look forward to, however distant. After that cut-short summer, Aslan's promise made them feel as if they had all the time in the world.

**Fin!**


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